Lila Monday
by tia8206
Summary: James opens Rachel's card, a jolt in his stomach. They don't stay in touch so often anymore these days... This was done as a Secret Santa gift for makealist. Prompt: Anytime after S6. Hurley sends a message to Sawyer via Ben. Suliet-centric.
1. Today

**So here's the first half of my Secret Santa for makealist - I was so excited to get her for this but I found the requests HARD, so I hope you like it. Thanks so much to kab16 for organizing this, and to propernice over at livejournal for so patiently allowing me to bounce ideas off her.**

**The other half should be up in the next couple of days.**

* * *

_**Prompt: Anytime (months, years, your choice) after S6. Hurley sends a message to Sawyer via Ben.**_

* * *

_"The bed is unmade, like everything is._  
_Dark little heaven at the top of the stairs._  
_Take me like that, ruin it all._  
_Then build it again, by the light in the hall."_

- Stars, "One More Night (Your Ex-Lover Remains Dead)"

* * *

The cracked patio out back is sunken enough that last night's rain has turned it into a damn lake, but all the same, James knows the girl's gonna be just fine with it, that they'll make boats out of fallen leaves because the little white plastic boats just aren't as fun, apparently.

December in Albuquerque, and he can't remember the last time he'd seen snow, they get it now and then, but not in a few years now, not that it really matters, anyway. Ain't like he'd want to shovel at his age anyway, would probably have a damn heart attack on the sidewalk like they're always talking about on the news.

And it's Monday, Lila Monday, her official day with him, or his official day with her, however that works, so he just pulls on his rain boots, goes out to the back with a towel to wipe down the swing set, a non-negotiable deal between them re: swinging contests, and he usually pretends to lose. Not always, 'cause he's gotta keep her head from swelling up too big. If possible.

And as to how ridiculous it probably looks, well, he's just glad no one else has to witness those swinging contests.

Actually, strike that "glad no one else has to witness" part.

(Always always thinking stupid things like that, even all this time later, but what's the point anymore? Jesus Christ.)

The swing set dried off, James heads back inside, drapes the towel over the rack in the downstairs bathroom. Her apron is still hanging there, from last weekend's finger-painting during an impromptu visit before they headed out to pick up trees for both houses. Her mother had finger-painted, too, and damned if the three of them didn't end up creating a mural of an island. Every time he thought they were done, Lila had begged for "just one more," and every single time James had relented, reached for the scotch tape. Taped another piece of paper onto the next, over and over, eight panels wide, until it was time for them to get going.

But before her piano lesson, they'd added a pirate ship, even a lighthouse. Lila's own ideas, except for the volcano - her mother's. Finally (because, fuck it), James had painted a little yellow house at the base of the volcano.

"Who's that for?" Lila had asked. "For you and me?"

"Maybe it's for whoever gets stuck on the island."

"Nuh uh, no one is stuck there." Lila reached into the white and added a boat against the blue. Added a green sail. A way off, a way out. So fuckin' simple.

Clem is running late today, and when he finally hears that huge SUV in the driveway, Lila's already hefting her backpack up, skittering toward the house. Clem rolls down the driver's side window. "Sorry, got a class in fifteen!"

His little girl, teaching college. Jesus fucking Christ, how quick the time goes. (And how slow.)

"Bye, Mommy!" Lila yells as Clem backs down the driveway, waving furiously.

"Heya, sweetpea." James leans down for the kind of hug he used to get when Clem was this age, or almost. Fierce and protective and totally trusting. "How was school today?"

"Boooooring." Lila pulls off the backpack, dumps it inside the door. "Hey, can we play the game with the horse pieces today?"

"The horse pieces?"

"Yeah, the white and black ones with the queen and the king?"

James grins. "Chess. Yeah." He's spent practically a whole afternoon last week trying to teach her; six's way too young but he couldn't bring himself to dampen her enthusiasm.

"OK. And then we should do our swinging contest. And did you get the mail yet?"

"Saved it for ya."

"Yay!" She bolts out the door as he yells after her to watch for cars, not to cross the sidewalk, and should he go after her, or no, she's old enough, right? Lila is about the same age Clem was when he'd finally met her, and sometimes lately it feels like everything's come around full circle, for better or worse, except his fingers tighten at the doorframe at the thought of exactly what worse means, and goddammit, he probably knows worse as well as anyone.

Lila comes back in with the mail, and they decide on graham crackers and apple slices for an after-school snack. "Boring, bill, boring, junk mail," she says with her mouth full of graham cracker, crumbs tumbling down onto the table. "Address labels, can I have the stickers? Oh, Christmas cards! Cuh I open them?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full. Yeah."

Lila opens them up, one from Miles and the little wifey. Un-fuckin'-believable, that one. Guy never worked an honest day in his life 'til Dharmaville (not that James should talk) and now he's a damn detective? Well, time is a funny thing, after all.

The other card's from Rachel. "Who's that? Is that your girrrrllllfriend?"

"Naw, baby. Rachel? You've met her. My friend from Florida who visited, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Simone's your girrrrllllfriend, right? And can we play the chest game now?"

"Chess, sweetpea. No 't'. Gimme a minute, lemme take a look at this, OK?"

Lila slides off the seat and disappears into the living room after a brief whine. James opens Rachel's card, a jolt in his stomach. They don't stay in touch so often anymore these days. In the beginning, after Chesty LaRue somehow managed to land their duct-taped plane without harming a single chest hair, James and Rachel had spent an awful lot of time together. In fact, he'd even taught Julian to ride a two-wheeler, once upon a time.

Somehow those visits managed to soothe something within him and rip off the scab all at once.

After a couple years though, he'd finally settled in Albuquerque, slowly worming his way back into Cassidy's good graces. All right, not necessarily good, but not totally hate-filled, either.

(He told himself he wanted to make her proud. 'Her': easier than letting himself think of a name.)

He still saw Rachel, though, sometimes. Usually on what would have been... her milestone birthdays he'd fly into Miami; they'd look at pictures or some depressing shit like that. Once they'd planted a tree. A couple times they'd spent an evening serving dinner at a shelter, even though she probably would have made some smart-ass remark about that.

A few times they just got really, really fucking wasted. Julian tried to humor them both, still does, it was clear the guy thought these two old loons were hanging on far too long, and of course they'd never gotten drunk when he was around, not even once he was an adult, but Jesus Christ, sixty-five next year? Don't even seem possible.

_James - Just got my five-year scans back_, Rachel had written._ Everything looks good, Merry Christmas to me, right? Anyway, hope you have a great Christmas/New Year, and send my love to Clem, Matt, Lila & Simone. Julian says he's sending you a card, too, but we'll see how that goes. Maybe we'll see you next year? Xo, Rachel._

Daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter. Sure, sure, sure. What is it with everyone so desperate to shove him and Simone together? Sure, they're together, he ain't gonna argue about that, but just because they met at book club doesn't mean they're soul mates or anything. Her husband died not even two years ago, and if anyone thinks they're finding refuge in each other - well, it's just, grief isn't something he likes to talk a whole lot about.

* * *

Lila gets bored of her chess lesson exactly sixteen minutes in, which is a whole minute longer than last time, but hey, it's something. James dutifully puts in his time on the swings, thanking his fucking stars he'd sprung for the heavy-duty wood set. Although if he'd bought the cheapo one, he could have claimed it was only suited for kids, so how lucky and/or smart he was about that shit is still up for debate.

"Wait wait wait," Lila protests a moment after she kneels down to inspect the lake of the sunken patio as he goes to look for the toy boats he knows will be abandoned for fallen leaves, anyway. "My braid got messed up, can you do it for me?"

James Ford. Ex-conman, convicted felon, grandpa who knows how to braid little girls' hair. Yep, no identity dilemma here. None at all.

"C'mere, sit on the bench."

Lila wrinkles her nose at the damp wood but finally acquiesces, and he gets to work on making the prettiest (i.e., probably not very) braid he knows how to make. Except there's a car pulling into his driveway, around the side of the house where he can't see, and he listens closely. Maybe someone needing a place to turn around on this narrow street, except the engine cuts off.

He keeps braiding, 'cause if he stops now he'll lose the whole damn thing, and whoever it is (Simone?) will just have to wait, 'cause it's a Lila Monday.

After a minute, long enough for Anonymous Uninvited Visitor to ring the front doorbell and wait around, very precise footsteps approach, and he's not sure why, but for some reason he's reminded of Sun, her careful precision, and he has to take a sharp breath to keep his hands from shaking on Lila's hair as he secures the purple elastic band at the bottom of her braid.

And then Benjamin fucking Linus is standing there, his hands clasped in front of him, outfitted in neatly pressed khakis, a pale blue button-down shirt that matches those unnaturally wide eyes. And James is sitting here with lines on his face and white in his stubble and more gray hair than not, and that bug-eyed bastard hasn't aged one damn day.

"Hello, James." Ben's voice is way too serene, it has to be some sort of game. "I never took you for the hair-braiding type. I suppose Hugo was right."

His voice comes out as a growl even though the last time he saw Ben, he was digging the guy out from under a fallen tree. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"No swearing, Poppy," Lila hisses.

"Babycakes, go inside for me, all right?"

Lila gazes at Ben distrustfully, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow. "Fine."

Ben chuckles as she disappears into the house. "She's very much like you, you know."

"What the hell would you even know about it? What are you doin' here? Why not Hugo?" James demands, his hands balling up into fists.

Ben is still, very still. "Hugo couldn't make it today, unfortunately. Island affairs. He sends his best wishes, of course."

"Yeah, well, that don't sound like Hugo."

"Would you feel better if I called you 'dude'?" Ben smirks.

James doesn't need to sit around and deal with this shit, it's all over and done with, been over and done with for a long, long time. "I ain't seen you in almost thirty years, and I ain't seen Hugo either, ain't heard a peep from either one a you. And you ain't aged one fucking minute since the day we left. So let's cut with the chitchat and you tell me what you're doing in my yard."

"I wasn't aware that you had such a pressing schedule. But of course, let us get right to business." Ben casts a long gaze on the bench, but it's clear to both of them that they have no desire to sit so close to each other.

Oh, for Christ's sakes. He cocks his head to one side, gesturing toward the back door in an over-exaggerated fake-butler manner. "Fine. You wanna come in?"

Ben blinks, possibly for the first time since he'd shown up here in New Mexico suburban heaven/hell. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**The second half will be up within the next day or two. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Tomorrow

**Here's the second half (a.k.a., "the end"). Happy New Year!**

* * *

_"In my dream I was almost there;_  
_Then you pulled me aside and said you're going nowhere._  
_I know we are the chosen few_  
_But we're wasted_  
_And that's why we're still waiting."_

- Arcade Fire, "Modern Man"

* * *

Lila's got her crayons out all over the kitchen table by the time James pushes open the door, Ben a little bit too close behind him. Had Mr. Immortal Unloved right here forgotten about personal space?

"Baby, you wanna watch a video while I talk to my friend for a few minutes?"

She looks up suspiciously, her eyes moving over Ben. "He isn't your friend, I don't think."

James barks a laugh, and even Ben's mouth curves into a smile. "Perceptive."

"Jus' sit down, would you?" he grumbles.

Ben sits without taking his gaze from them. "She's very... _special_, isn't she?"

Special? What, like riding the short bus or something? James flashes him a warning look before guiding Lila into the living room. Gets her all set up with the promised video. "You need some juice or anythin'?"

Lila gives him a withering look. "Poppy, I'm _six_, I can ask for juice if I need it."

Jesus, getting it from both sides today, huh? "Right, of course ya can."

James closes the door to the kitchen, folding his arms and staring at Ben. Trying to look intimidating, but truth is, he ain't sure how threatening he can manage to look anymore, and he's also not so sure that he ever managed to intimidate Ben. At least once the bug-eyed bastard was past the age of twelve or so, anyway.

"Please, James, have a seat." Ben waves his hand at the table in front of it like suddenly this is Ben's own damn house they're in.

"Well, thanks, Father Time, thought you'd never ask," he says sarcastically, echoing Ben's words from only a few minutes ago. Thinks about offering the guy something to drink, quickly decides against it. "You wanna tell me what's behind Door Number Three already?"

Ben looks at the Christmas cards still on the table from earlier. Looks at them for a little too long, and suddenly James wonders if he'd read them while James was off with Lila. Except Ben's next words genuinely throw James off-kilter. "Hugo wanted to talk to you about Rachel."

"What - Rachel - why -?"

Ben folds his hands over the tabletop, leaning down slightly like he's somehow decided now's the time to act submissive. "She had some scans recently, did she not?"

"How do you know - "

Ben doesn't blink, as usual. "Her doctor missed something in the upper right quadrant of the fourth image. She needs to go back and have him look at it again."

"No way - " Rachel's been cancer-free this entire time James has known her; wasn't that the whole fucking point of... her (can't think of her name, can't can't can't) bargain with Jacob, via Ben? "What the fuck did you do to her, you bast -"

Ben quickly unfolds his hands, holding them up, his fingers slightly curved. "Nothing, James, please, I assure you. But isn't it possible that Jacob's been gone long enough that his... gifts... might have faded by this point?"

"If that's the case then why don't Jumbotron do somethin'?" Jesus fucking Christ, Rachel's_ scans?_

Ben puts his hands down. "Because every protector of the island has different... abilities."

"So, what, he can somehow see through a magical island telescope an' right into some doctor's filing cabinet in Miami? Why the fuck am I s'posed to believe you anyway?"

Ben's motionless and silent, but something flickers in his eyes; somehow his entire expression seems to blur and shrink for a moment before James blinks and refocuses. Still he doesn't answer. No, this is all a lie. It has to be.

"That's exactly what I thought," James growls, shooting to his feet. "Just some trick, you always were runnin' some con no matter what, weren't ya? You want somethin' from me and you ain't saying what, well, _fuck you_ for draggin' Rachel into this shit, don't you think she's been through enough?"

Ben rises too, but he doesn't move away from the table. Instead he digs into his right pant pocket for a moment, then moves his hand over the table, spreads his fingers. Something shiny clatters onto the surface, and for a few seconds James is pretty sure time has somehow stopped.

With a trembling hand James reaches down for her engagement ring. What is he even - how can he - what is he supposed to - how did Ben -

James raises his face to meet Ben's, which is somehow suddenly filled with compassion and sorrow. "I'm sorry, James. Hugo told me not to give this to you unless you needed proof."

"I threw this... I threw this into the bay."

"That's what - " Ben stops abruptly, but James' blood is saturated with adrenaline and shock as he angles around the table, advancing on him now.

"That's what, what?"

"That's what she told Hugo."

James stops walking as quickly as he's begun, feeling like he's been punched in the stomach. With a wrecking ball. He's taking huge heaving gulps of air now, trying to focus on the pattern of the tile floor, the whorl of the wood in the table legs, anything but this fucking cheap-ass catalog-purchased fifty-eight-year-old diamond ring clutched in his fucking hand.

"She's sorry to bother you, but she wanted you to know, you have to talk to Rachel, just say you have a bad feeling," Ben says all in a rush, too quickly for it to really sound like the Ben that James knows. Knew? For God's sakes, it's been a long time, after all. "Or that you had a very realistic dream."

"Why didn't - she said - she talked - to Hugo?" James practically pants, his other hand clutching the table. Goddamn Hugo and his fucking _gifts_, this shit is just too fucked up, so what, she's stuck on the island, but she knew about the scans and - "Why didn't you tell me all this sooner? Why didn't anyone tell me - "

"She wants you to know she's not trapped," Ben offers calmly, having somehow recaptured his typical monotone. "She's just waiting for you."

"Waitin' for - "

"She didn't go to Hugo until last week."

"All this time, and - "

He shrugs. "She didn't want to get in touch because she thought it might prevent you from moving on."

James flings his hands into the air, gesturing at the kitchen, Lila's fingerprint island mural on the wall, and on the fridge snapshots of him and Simone out to dinner somewhere; Clem and Matt on their Hawaii vacation. Branches of this year's Christmas tree pressed up against outside of the little window over the sink, the tree still out on the porch in the cool air. The three-quarters-read novel for next week's book club meeting (the pages slightly rippled from leaving it too near the drainer board), on the counter next to Lila's purple-and-silver bike helmet that's covered in stickers.

"Does this look like I ain't moved on?" James demands, and he's not sure whether that's supposed to be a rhetorical question or not at this point.

Ben looks down at the table. Looks back up. Clears his throat. "Hugo and I are working on something. For... after. We don't know if it will work yet."

And what the hell is that even supposed to mean? Some big ol' class reunion of dead Island companions? What, with awards? 'Traveled the furthest to be here tonight'?

James is still just standing there, probably staring at him blankly by now because he'd felt the anger slide off his face. "She... Did she say anything else?"

Ben shrugs casually, his eyes very round. "She wants to make sure you'll talk to Rachel."

He narrows his eyes. "An' that's the only fuckin' thing she said?" Is she angry with him? Disappointed in him? She's only using them all as a messaging service to take care of Rachel? His heart's dropped to somewhere around his knees, and he ain't sure shit's hurt this damn much in years at this point, but it turns out maybe he's been focusing on all this for far too long, and even a dead woman's moved on more than he has? Except... wait one damn second. Ben had said she was waiting for him? No, that just doesn't add up.

James advances on Ben again, who quickly stands up too, backing away. James has a good six inches on him, even if he doesn't have the advantage of years anymore, and Ben swallows noticeably. Then again, once upon a time, getting beat up was practically Ben's part-time job, so it ain't nothing he's never dealt with before, right?

"Why don't you tell me what else she said?" James says pointedly. Real smooth, or trying to be, despite the fact that he's still got her ring clutched tight in the palm of his hand, which has gone clammy.

"You can't even say her name," Ben replies, equally as smoothly, but his eyes dart nervously toward the door.

James takes another step forward, almost touching Ben now but suddenly thinking of Lila in the other room. Realizing it's not like he's going to slug someone across the face when Lila's in the house. (...She... hadn't been much of a nicknamer, herself, but "slugger": that was one she'd used.) _You can't even say her name_, Ben had just pointed out. Jesus, Ben has James' number all right, and he lets out a far-too-shaky breath. "You don't even know what you're talkin' about," James tries to lie.

"That must be it." Ben takes another step backward, toward the door. "She said it was a beautiful ring. She loves you, and she's very proud of you, and she'll see you again one day." Ben delivers all this like it's leaving a terrible taste in his mouth, and hell, it probably is, for Ben, but all the same James has to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"You tell Hugo he's welcome here any time, you hear?" he manages to get out.

"What, no nickname?" Ben is edging closer to the door.

"Take care of him. Take care of yourself." There, trying to sound like the bigger person. All right? Happy now?

Ben nods, blinks several times, his eyes suddenly bright, and slips out the back door.

After a moment it feels like he was never even there, except James uncurls his fingers and there it is, that ring resting on the palm of his left hand. He wonders how long it was in the bay, it doesn't look all that bad, considering. "Juliet," he allows himself, just once, in a whisper, and then he slips the ring into his pocket and goes to find the phone.


End file.
